The Queen Will See You Now

BALTIMORE — "Catherine the Great" sits on her throne in the home she shares with her oldest son. The throne is a recliner in which sits Catherine Eliza Brown Dorsey, my maternal grandmother.

At age 100, she laughs and hums, surrounded by family. She is not fully cognizant these days. No matter. Respect for one's elders is a lesson that's been passed down for generations among the Dorsey clan.

When she couldn't stay in her home, my grandmother was taken in by loved ones.

She gets manicures and fragrant baths, as if she resides on the Nile. Her personal chefs are my uncles, my mother and my aunt.

She has lotions and oils rubbed into her skin. With skin this soft, she could be mistaken for a newborn, if you closed your eyes. Her long fingernails are hard and polished. She could have originated from the Fertile Crescent and drank from the fountain of youth.

This is what clean living and constant prayer looks like, folks.

Her husband, Roger, died in 1979. My grandfather was half Irish and half African American. His lighter skin sometimes made people mistake him for a white man. My grandmother's skin is mocha.

Together they had eight boys and two girls, one of them my mother. The couple insisted on music lessons. Their children learned to play piano, trumpet, drums, saxophone and guitar. Everyone sings in perfect harmony.

The sons enlisted in the Army and Air Force. Some were in the Korean War. Others served in peacetime in Guam and Okinawa.

My grandfather worked for an oil refinery. My grandmother held occasional work. The sons sent money home from the service, so there was never a need for relief.

At her centennial, the queen received a huge cake and ate a small piece. She doesn't recall the dead son in Louisiana. Kept from her is the health of her youngest son, stricken with MS and in a wheelchair in New Jersey.

He phoned. He sent gifts, including a statue of a black angel and a heart-shaped necklace that she put on right away.

We count the blessing of her being here, even if we do not understand it.

She is our queen mum.

So as she sits and receives us while wearing a tiara atop her bewigged head, we shower her with jewels. We read aloud proclamations. Mayor Sheila Dixon sent a certificate with a gold seal and "best wishes for your continued longevity."

A citation from Gov. Martin O'Malley read "your fellow Marylanders proudly join in honoring you on the occasion of your 100th birthday."

These tributes are from Democrats. My grandmother is a Republican who joined when other "colored folks" wanted to be in the party of Lincoln. Her home held pictures of Ronald Reagan, George and Barbara, George and Laura, Dr. King and Jesus Christ.

So if I have to tell this proud Republican that George W. Bush, Condi and FDR are here for her to receive them, I will tell this lie. It will make her day.

In the 1980s, I arranged a limousine ride for her and my paternal grandmother. I didn't want to wait until their funerals for their first chauffeur-driven ride.

When the driver showed up, I watched these royals walk slowly, so the neighbors could see. They ate crab cakes and drank Pepsis at Phillips on the Inner Harbor.

Of the two grandmothers, Grandma Dorsey is all that is left.

She has forgotten her husband of 53 years. Instead, she talks about her dead sister, Amanda, sometimes mistaking my mother for her.

"Is Mandy here?" my grandmother asks. "Yes," I say and cross my fingers behind my back. "She is in the living room having cake with the president and Condi." She is tickled because she thinks this is true. I kiss her hand and listen while she hums.

Long live the queen!

Rhonda Chriss Lokeman (lokeman@kcstar.com) is a columnist for the Kansas City Star. To find out more about Rhonda Chriss Lokeman, and read features by other Creators Syndicate writers and cartoonists, visit the Creators Syndicate Web page at www.creators.com.

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